For The Man Who Knows (Almost) Everything
by Batsy Rocks
Summary: Clark arrived at the Manor just in time to see something Bruce would rather he hadn't.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Justice League or any of its characters. Big surprise there.

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Bruce cursed under his breath, glaring at the mess before him. There was no time to clean it up now, and even if he tried, the man who rung the bell would know anyway. With a resigned sigh, he put the pad on the counter and walked toward the front door.

Clark was standing at the other side, hair disheveled from the flight and clothes untidy from changing at super-speed. Bruce was always very strict about not having Superman standing on his doorway, so even if his nearest neighbors were miles away and it was getting dark already, Clark respected that.

Only a handful of people could get past the gates of Wayne Manor, and with Bruce's expensive and complex security system, he should know already it was him.

"Hey," The reporter greeted with a smile as the door opened, revealing a casually dressed Bruce Wayne. Or at least, a not-so-formal one; wearing a white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone and dark pants.

"Clark," Bruce replied. "What are you doing here."

Admitting that, with Alfred out of town, he had stopped by to check on Bruce was not an option, but still, Clark didn't lie. "Well, I was on my way back from an emergency- nothing serious. Just some problems with a train in Philadelphia. Everyone got out okay," Clark added before Bruce asked. "I was flying back when I noticed a burning smell coming from the Manor, so I thought I'll check in."

Bruce ignored altogether the part about the burning smell, and instead glared at the kryptonian. "So, you were not only _flying_ over Gotham but also close enough to the Manor to perceive that."

"Ahh, well, yes," Clark rubbed the back of his neck. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course. The fire was caused while I was working down in the cave, but I took care of it."

Clark barely held back his smile. "I also have x-ray vision."

"And I've told you to stop watching through my walls." Bruce snapped.

"Sorry." Clark replied automatically, but couldn't hold his smile any longer. Thanks to his supervision, he could see the faint blush on Bruce's cheeks even in the dim light and it was adorable. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"You already know what happened."

"Nope, I don't. I only saw the mess in your kitchen, but I don't know what happened."

The billionaire clenched his jaw. "You've seen that everything is okay. Shouldn't you be going back with your parents now?"

"It's okay. I'm staying over at the farm tonight, so take a couple of minutes more to return wouldn't hurt."

Bruce sighed, gesturing for Clark to step in before speaking. "I was hungry, so I was attempting to prepare some pasta. It didn't go well, obviously."

"First time cooking?" Clark asked as he followed Bruce.

"Something like that," Bruce said curtly looking away. "Alfred suggested hiring a temporary chef until he got back, but I refused. I told him I'd just eat outside until he returned. He still left some cooked food just to heat up in case I needed it."

"So, you finished it out already?" It wasn't like Alfred to miscalculate like that, especially if he wasn't going to be back for a few days still. Unless Bruce hadn't eaten out like he said he would.

"Not exactly. Dick came over yesterday. He was happy to eat Alfred's food, even if it was reheated in the microwave."

Clark nodded with a smile. He knew what it was like to miss a plate of warm and familiar homemade food every now and then, even if he had the option of flying home in a flash to enjoy it.

Bruce stepped into the kitchen without a backward glance, annoyance bubbling up once again as he saw the mess.

"Not a word, Kent."

He hadn't been about to say anything, but Clark still pressed his lips together as he came to a stop at Bruce's side, surveying the damage. There was a thick layer of white foam covering a pot and the oven as well as the floor, and some also on the counter. As far as kitchen fires went, this one hadn't been so bad. Bruce probably had had the fire extinguisher nearby.

Besides the white stylish fire extinguisher, Clark caught sight of a pad resting a top of the kitchen island. He shook his head a little. No wonder things had gone wrong if Bruce had been busy reading the news or working on something. The kryptonian reached for it, blinking when he saw what came up when the screen lightened.

"You looked up the recipe."

"Of course. How else was I supposed to know how to make it? Not that it mattered anyway," Bruce added with an annoyed look at the oven.

Clark looked down at the pad between his hands before looking up at the billionaire. "I can help you."

"What?"

"We have to clean this first, but I can help you prepare something if you want."

"You know how to cook," Bruce said with an arched eyebrow. In typical Wayne fashion, the inflection in his voice made the words teeter between a question and a statement.

"Of course. Do you think Ma would have left me moved to Metropolis and live on my own if I couldn't feed myself?" Clark replied with a smile.

It would never stop being _strange_ to hear the most powerful man on Earth talking about his mother letting him do or not do something. Bruce shook his head. "I've never seen you cook."

"That's because you have been to my apartment only a handful of times, and are always too busy to stay long. And the rest of the times we've met I'm working. Can't exactly cook something if I'm flying around or interviewing people."

Bruce only grunted in reply, arms crossed across his chest.

"So, you want some help?"

"You could just fly out and bring me some takeout if you want to help."

""Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.""

Bruce rolled his eyes. "If I say yes would you stop that."

Clark shrugged, a lopsided smile still on his face. "Can't make any promises, but you'll at least have something to eat tonight."

"Alright." Bruce reached for his pad, leaning against the counter as he started scrolling. He could feel the weight of Clark's eyes on him, but he ignored it. Or _tried_ to. He looked up a few seconds later. "What?"

Clark said nothing. He simply watched him with an eyebrow arched above the rim of his glasses.

"Come on. You can clean it all up in less than a minute!"

"I never said I was going to do it for you. I just offered to help," Clark pointed out.

"Fine!" Bruce dropped the pad back on the counter and left the kitchen.

He was back a moment later with a couple of plastic gloves and goggles, and a roll of paper towels.

"You've met my kids," Bruce said in response to the look on Clark's face. "Do you honestly think I've never cleaned up after a fire?"

"Point taken," Clark replied with a smile, taking the pair of gloves and goggles Bruce was handling him even if he didn't need the protection.

It wasn't often he got the chance to spend time with Bruce without there being work involved in any way, and the idea of teaching something to the mighty Bat was making him almost giddy.

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 **a/n:** Inspired by this prompt: "hi we're neighbours and omg are you alright i could smell cooking burning - whoaaa now that's just embarrassing? step aside i'll handle this" The fic obviously ended being totally different from that, but it wouldn't have been born without it.

I was actually pretty skeptical about believing Bruce could be such a mess in the kitchen. Being unable to prepare good food? Yeah. But being so bad to even cause fires. Not really. But then I stumbled across a comic panel of showing Bruce giving a plate of food he prepared to Tim, and well, let's just say I don't think it's so unbelievable anymore ;)


End file.
